


When Dream and Day Unite

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by ACSecond chances give hope for the consummation of long denied passions.Part of the "Folly of Starlight" series.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 6
Collections: Least Expected





	When Dream and Day Unite

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: No profit received, no harm meant, no ownership implied.  
> This is the sequel to "Images and Words".  
> The title (like that of the last story) comes courtesy of Dream Theater. This work was seriously influenced by "Waiting in Vain", written by Bob Marley, sung beautifully by Annie Lennox.  
> Special thanks to Faela Greenleaf for the beta job .

"It's been a long, long time  
He's had a while to think it over  
In the end he only sees the change  
Light to dark  
Dark to light  
Light to dark  
Dark to light  
Heaven must be more than this  
When angels waken with a kiss  
Sacred hearts won't take the pain  
But mine will never be the same  
He stands before the window  
His shadow slowly fading on the wall  
And from an ivory tower hears her call  
'Let the light surround you'."

  * Kevin Moore (Dream Theater), "Surrounded"



* * *

Part 1:

[Late afternoon, Midsummer's Day, the Year 2713 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, the safe haven of Imladris, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell]

With hands firmly clasped behind the back of his elegant elfin robes, the Lord of Rivendell surveyed the breadth of his water-cradled sanctuary from the edge of a small stone-lined patio. And yet he ever found his gaze straining beyond the forest, beyond the river, beyond the rocky crags of the gorge which shielded them from the larger world beyond. It was to that great external expanse to which he often found his heart was naturally drawn. No, not to the entirety of the wide world, or even the great sea itself, but to one extraordinary oasis of unspoiled splendor in the shadow-darkened forest once known as Greenwood the Great.

Such exquisite beauty could only be found on the rarest of occasions, perhaps only once or twice in a lifetime, even one so long as his. Was there any wonder he was utterly captivated by it? It astounded and confounded, calling out to him from over the many miles and days that separated them, singing through his blood in a way the sea could never hope to match. He more than occasionally found himself wondering what _he_ would think, whenever an object of beauty caught his eye. He had rediscovered all that magical of Rivendell, by seeing through _his_ eyes.

An aquamarine-hued butterfly rode the currents of the strong summer breeze wafting through the canyon of the mighty river, hovering for a moment just beyond the low stone wall which separated ground from cliff-sided air. Eager to catch a better glimpse of the fragile creature, Elrond leaned forward, firmly planting his hands on the solid stonework. He smiled slightly to himself, watching in wonder as the ethereal wings beat strongly against the updrafts. Standing as motionless as a statue, he dared not draw the slightest breath as the delicate insect found rest and respite on his hand.

Delighting in the wonderment of this most frail and superb of nature's creations, the expression on the ancient elf's face brightened even further, smoothing the centuries-deepened creases of worry from his brow. Cautiously he raised his hand ever so slowly up toward his face, his eyes drinking in the minutest details in the butterfly's form. "Why do you tarry here, tiny one? Something so lovely as you would be far better appreciated by _his_ eyes than mine." He leaned his lips ever closer to the strangely pacified insect and, despite his chagrin at such romantic foolishness, allowed his heart to speak for his mind. "Fly to Greenwood, Wilwarin. Speak to him of your kin in the stars."

As if obeying his command, the insect leisurely flapped its wings several times, then flew off, slightly north of east, in the very direction of Thranduil's realm. Awed despite his jaded nature, Elrond watched the insect cross the gorge with apparent intent. <<Did he truly understand?>> Elvin-raised horses assuredly understood their silvery tongue, and the energies of nature could certainly be harnessed by the correct application of Elvin knowledge and power....

"When did you start speaking to insects, Father? Have you grown weary of all your companions in Rivendell?"

Spinning sharply to face the honey-tongued jibe, Elrond quickly slipped on his virtual mask of dignified indignance. "When did _you_ forget to respect your father's privacy, Arwen?" he gruffly snorted, his eyes betraying his inner good humor under a typically arched eyebrow.

Smiling sweetly, the raven-haired beauty gracefully walked closer to her much beloved parent. "It seems much has changed in the five years I have been gone. And changed for the better, unless the transformation I see in you is a sign of madness."

"What are you talking about? Nothing has changed," Elrond blustered, turning away from her inscrutable gaze.

"Deny it all you will, Father. You forget that I know you better than anyone, even Gandalf."

"Not as well as Glorfindel, or Cirdan."

"Perhaps not for as _long_ , but I know your heart." A smile increased the loveliness of her face to that of the night itself. Reaching out a hand, she tenderly touched her father's shoulder and spun him back to face her. "It is in your eyes, even when you act cross. Something has happened, whether you admit it to me or not." She paused, then gently cupped the mock scowling face. "You need not tell me what has wrought this change. I merely rejoice that it has occurred." When he did not protest, nor deny, her insightful observation, she sweetly kissed his cheek, smiled at him, then turned to leave. "I will leave you to your important conversations," she teased over her shoulder, silently padding across the stone floor toward her private chambers.

Elrond squeezed his eyes tightly shut, embarrassed both at being caught in the act of such childish foolishness, and the fact that his feelings were apparently as transparent as elf blown crystal. <<Either remove your spell or make good on your promise to return, Legolas!>> More than three years had passed since that starlit spring night. Three years that Elrond had spent reliving the smell of _his_ hair and skin, the timbre of _his_ voice, the tension in _his_ body as they stood so close, and yet teetering on the edge of an endless gulf. <<If only you had not sung, if only I had not reacted as I had, if only, if only, if only....>> So many 'if only's,' each one replayed in his dreams, in the solitude of his bed. Even that one delicious phantasmal vision, that far-too-real sensuous dream, repeated in his head, whether a blessing or a curse he could not say. He had relived it so many times he began to wonder if it had actually been a memory. Surely his mere fantasies could not be so vivid.

But, alas, it had not been a reality. His one opportunity to make it so had been snatched from his hand -- nay, thrown away, over the haunting memory of another who had captured his heart, so long ago. He stilled dreamed of his lost king, from time to time, but much less regularly than he had since the golden prince had entered his life, and left it almost as suddenly.

None knew what had happened, or, rather, nearly happened, between himself and the Prince of Mirkwood, yet others than Arwen had questioned what they perceived as a curious transformation in his mood, his manner. Glorfindel had queried when he had "reawakened" to the world, and even Elladan had cast him a questioning expression on more than one occasion. If his sons had spent more time in Imladris, and less time in their vengeful quest to exterminate every orc in Middle-earth, they certainly would have been even more suspicious.

But their constant comings and goings into the world beyond the Bruinen valley had provided Elrond with the very snippets of information which fanned the flames of hope within his heart. Arriving home unannounced in the chill of the previous winter, they had reported crossing paths with their previous houseguest, the son of Thranduil, near the northern tributary of the River Running. "He spoke of Rivendell with great fondness," Elrohir had cheerfully, and naively, reported. "We invited him to return with us, but he declined, saying he had obligations to his father to fulfill. He promised to pay a visit in his own time, and asked that we send you his warmest regards for your hospitality."

"Is that all that he said?" Elrond had cautiously inquired at the time, ever mindful not to reveal anything of his heart's true elation at those encouraging words.

Elladan and Elrohir had exchanged an expression of amusement, and chuckled. "The elves of Mirkwood are a strange lot, Father. Much of what they say makes no sense. It must be that the spiders have infected their brains with their poison without their knowledge," Elladan had offered. He had glanced at his brother again, then with confusion and amusement painted across his face, had laughed, "he wanted us to tell you that he hadn't forgotten the stars." The twins had exchanged a secret expression of incredulity, then broken out into unbridled laughter. "They need reminding of the existence of the stars! They have been spending far too much time around the dwarves!" In their unrestrained hilarity, they had completely missed the expression of relief and renewed hope in Elrond's face.

Winter had turned to spring, bringing with it the promise of the renewal of many things upon the face of Middle-earth, and the third anniversary of opportunities lost. No, not lost, simply misplaced, delayed, Elrond had convinced himself. Spring had brightened and warmed into the sultry ripeness of summer, bringing with it the return of the Lady Arwen from nearly five autumns in Lothlorien.

Elrond had the patience of the Eldar -- the passing of time seemed but the wink of an eye to those who had lived as long as he -- but he found himself revisiting the impatience of his distant childhood. <<By Elbereth, he is toying with me. He will learn that is not a shrewd strategy.>> Even in that grumbling insight, he found the scowl felt somehow foreign on his face. He could not even feign anger at the playful princeling, despite his mind's considerable horror at his own adolescent zeal.

<<He will return.>> But what then? Was Elrond truly ready to accept the possibility that love could be his, once more? Was it nothing more than the folly of youth and the equally foolish sentimentality of age blinded by the machinations of starlight? He was to face his uncertainties sooner than he believed.

"My Lord, a visitor has arrived, seeking an audience with you."

Startled by the voice of the young sentry, Elrond turned abruptly away from his unfocused northeast gaze. "Does this visitor have a name?"

Clearly uncomfortable with the message he was being forced to deliver, the elf squirmed uncomfortably in his skin. "None that he gave, but he claims to have been here before. I told him you would be most displaced with his insolence...."

"Man or Elf?" Elrond sternly interrupted, feeling the wellspring of irrational hope rising in his heart.

"Elf, my Lord."

Dare he hope? Dare he? Turning his back on the dutiful messenger, Elrond clasped his hands in front of his chest and nervously wrung them. "Did he at the very least say where he was from?"

"Mirkwood, Lord."

Exhaling the kept breath with undeniable excitement and trepidation, Elrond squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to muster all the falsely steeled ambivalence he could muster. "Keep him waiting, for a little while, to teach him some respect, then direct him to my chambers."

"As you request, my Lord." With a stiff bow, the relieved herald turned on his heeled and scurried out of earshot, leaving Elrond to his silent prayers of thanks to Elbereth above.

Part 2:

The brilliant golden orb of the summer sun had leisurely tarried farther west in its daily voyage, suddenly painting an amber curtain across the floor of Elrond's outer library as its last direct rays signaled their reluctant departure behind the cascade kissed cliffs beyond. Dressed in a muted gray-blue robe which his daughter had often commented well suited his eyes, the Lord of the Valley silently sat in his favorite reading chair, unhurriedly turning the pages of one of his weighty volumes. The words were utterly ignored by his gaze, his heart and mind fixated on the greater reward which was to come. A slight twitch of a smile flickered on his lips and was swiftly brought under control, raised at the almost imperceptible sound of elvish footsteps rapidly approaching. Just beyond Elrond's sight, out on the balcony, the footsteps halted, paused, then proceeded forward at a much less enthusiastic pace. An elegant eyebrow arched skyward at the calculated change. <<He does not wish to appear too eager, it seems. Then, neither shall I.>>

Forcing himself to stare intently down into the pages of his book for the first time, Elrond finally realized he had been holding the volume upside-down. With a hasty rotation of the leather-bound book, he tried not to react to the long-missed apparition which now drifted into view. His face was as stony as he could manage, and yet his heart leapt from his chest, dancing upon the air as the wings of the butterfly he had held audience with an hour before. Waiting until the other elf was directly in front of him, he ever so slowly closed the book upon itself and glanced up at the hope-filled countenance. "Legolas," was all he could manage to say with any hope of control.

The smile on the perfection-defining face beamed brighter. "Lord Elrond. I apologize for my long absence. I hope your invitation to return has not expired."

How could he hope to keep an upper hand in this battle of self control when Legolas looked at him with such intensity? Glancing down at the book in his lap, Elrond sniffed loudly and absently brushed at the cover. "If you had tarried any longer, I might have considered rescinding it."

With palpable sorrow in his voice, Legolas offered, "I would have regretted that greatly."

<<So would have I.>> Elrond squeezed his eyes closed, hanging on the lingering experience of the delicate, silvery timbre he had so missed. Leaning back in his chair as far as he could, he dared glance up to meet that intoxicating inquisitive gaze. What else could he do but admit to the truth? "So would have I," he allowed himself to speak, although far less urgently than he had to himself. He lingered in the instant twinkle of relief and resurging smile in the delicate alabaster features. It was then that he detected what he thought to be a change. Despite his polite manner, there was something different in the brash prince's air. There was a greater confidence, a subtle rounding of the rough edges of his youthful exuberance into a more useful form. It was no less desirable, in its own way. "You have missed my books."

"Yes, and the stars...." Pausing, Legolas dared a briefly widened smile, then shyly added, "And the pleasure of your company."

<<Is that a blush I see upon his cheeks? Then he has not lost his youthful uncertainty, after all.>> With renewed spinal fortitude, Elrond carefully put the book aside and slowly pushed up out of his chair. "Well, then, I shall make certain that you have your fill of all of these," he calmly replied. Not meeting Legolas' uncertainty laden eye, he wandered slowly over to a crystal decanter set upon a small table and uncorked the bottle. "You must be weary from your long journey. Let me pour us some miruvor to refresh your strength." He cast a wary eye at Legolas as he poured two small glasses of the fragrant liquor. "Where are your traveling companions?"

"I have none. I came alone. I mean to remain here until _I_ decide to leave...." The pause symptomatic of uncertainty momentarily returned to his voice. "... Or, until you tire of my constant presence."

<<The end of Ea would not be time enough, I fear.>> He glowered his disapproval while handing over a glass to the bow-strengthened fingers. "You traveled from Mirkwood without company? Traveling alone in these times is foolhardy."

Legolas uneasily shifted the glass to his other hand, then took a small sip. "I had an escort as far as its borders. That was sufficient. I am not a child who requires the constant watch of their nursemaid."

The other's dominant eyebrow arched ever so slightly, once more. The slight flare of the prince's nostrils was exhilarating, the quiet yet fiery indignation in his voice alluring, his manner altogether delicious and desirable. If this was to be a battle of words and wills, so be it. He would never relish victory so greatly as he would now. "Indeed not." Saluting Legolas with raised glass, Elrond took enjoyed a mouthful of the cordial. It usually brought a delicious, refreshing tingle to his body, but with every inch of his flesh already singing with the anticipation of dreams now given chance to become real, he did not feel any further effect.

With a flash of a smile, he slowly strolled out toward the terrace, knowing Legolas would immediately follow. "How passes time in your father's realm?"

Legolas sighed softly, wandering up to the ornate railing beside Elrond and with joy in his heart surveyed the magnificent serenity of Rivendell. "Parts of the forest grow darker and more treacherous still. The orcs grow more brazen, and their raids have increased. I have spent the last few years turning away their bands from my father's domain."

So close they stood, with only the tiniest snatch of air and the widest chasm of pride separating them. Swallowing hard, Elrond downed the remainder of his drink, then stared into the empty glass. "Then I am even more grateful that your bow has not failed you." Several heartbeats passed before he dared a glance to his right, catching the other's eager gaze. How easy it would be to throw caution to the wind, and succumb to the madness within him. Tightly clutching his glass, he resisted, instead turning away from the entrapping eyes to walk back toward his books. "Come, Legolas, you have traveled a great distance and deserve a hearty meal. I fear that my sons are absent at this time, so you shall have to suffer with my less fair company."

"Your company is far more fair," Legolas blurted out instantly, following in Elrond's shadow.

<<Such brazenness!>> But an askance glance found, once more, the hint of delicate rose-hued color flashed in those keenly sculpted cheeks, and Elrond knew it was the barest veneer of bravado covering an endless ocean of uncertainty. <<Something akin to my own heart.>> Setting the glass onto the table, he carefully took the now empty container from Legolas' hands, ever mindful to avoid actual contact with the enticing digits. Guilt-filled and sheepish at his nonsensical behavior, Elrond forced himself to recover some of his inner, if not outer, dignity. <<What a pair we are, he and I. Elbereth help us both, or we will surely squander this second chance.>>

Part 3:

After a surprisingly relaxed private dinner, spent trading embarrassing childhood stories about their respective brothers, Elrond and his much anticipated guest leisurely strolled along the stone cobbled walkways overlooking the gorge. The sun had long since set beyond the forest, painting the valley in hues of gold and azure. The air was heavy with the fragrance of the flowers of the season as well as its heat, and Legolas noted aloud the inviting bubble of the various tributaries of the mighty river.

Elrond smiled secretively, and playfully replied, "Then let us accept its invitation!" He toed off his soft leather slippers and patiently awaited while Legolas unfastened and shed his knee high boots. The mischievous twinkle never fading from the inscrutable layers of meaning in his eyes, Elrond led Legolas down a less well traveled path, their footwear in hand, behind the main buildings and to a small bridge set low in a cleft in the rocks. Beckoning the other to swiftly follow, Elrond carefully threaded his way down to the river itself and ducked beneath the bridge. There he did a slow rotation, searching like a cat appraising its master's lap, then carefully pulling up the hem of his robe, plopped down onto a soft moss covered hummock in a most undignified manner and dangled his feet into the burbling water.

"Sit, Legolas," Elrond encouraged with gesturing hand. "The water has a chill, but you will get used to it soon enough."

Grinning at the absolutely incongruous sight he had just witnessed, Legolas paused, then settled onto the comfortable moss, wrenching up his leggings to just below his knees. With a lighthearted laugh he thrust his feet into the water nearly up to the gathered material and splashed them around.

"Mind the spray, child!" Elrond grumbled, leaning away from the watery assault on what remained of his dignity.

With a cheeky grin, Legolas complied, instead softly paddling his feet through the swirling stream at a relaxed pace.

In comfortable silence, they allowed the night to unfold around them, envelop them, their close proximity after so many nights apart seemingly enough, for the time being. Without comment they enjoyed the sweet songs of birds preparing for rest, and the creatures of the forest softly stirring all around them. Before long, the moon rose over the cliff and bathed the valley floor in hues of silver and white.

Elrond glanced up at the welcome intrusion of the illumination of the last flower of Telperion, tilting his face upward to catch more fully its renewing rays. The unworldly reflection of the ghostly muted glow highlighted those striking features in a way sunlight could never hope to achieve, and Legolas found himself feeling like an inexperienced elfmaiden, once more. He had told himself that he would not falter in his courage this time -- that he would not leave Rivendell until he discovered whether Elrond truly felt as he. He had refrained from making any hope of an offensive motion during dinner, but here, in the arms of night, where they had lost their first chance those years before, he somehow felt the moment was as right as it would ever become.

Before he could find his tongue, Elrond turned away from the brilliant heavenly disk and locked that soul piercing gaze upon the him. With a shiver of knowing delight, Legolas caught the depth in way Elrond looked at him, and knew it was true, regardless of the words either of them uttered. "You remind me of ithildin," he whispered, uncertain he had really spoken, or if it was a waking dream.

Confusion ever so slightly marred the sweet nobility in the ancient face. "In what manner?"

Swallowing the maelstrom of surging insecurity in his heart, Legolas allowed his tongue to speak as it would. "You only reveal your true nature under the light of Ithil and the stars."

The confusion in Elrond's visage now turned to a hint of amusement, yet tempered with its own wishful desire, barely contained within the surface of his calm retort. "Precisely what do you believe to be revealed now which was not evident under the light of day?"

Legolas paused, still wavering in his confidence. Sucking in a breath, he dared finally give voice to the thoughts which had haunted his waking dreams for far too long. "Your heart."

Visibly taken aback, Elrond's face mirrored a thousand emotions in an instant, far too many for Legolas to correctly read. Pulling his feet from the water, he tucked his feet up under his robe and shifted to face Legolas' amiable sprawl. "What would you know of my heart?" he bluffed, his defenses clearly crumbling, his eyes betraying him and laying bare the transparency of his soul.

Legolas hesitantly reached out and tentatively touched the silver beads holding a delicate dark plait captive, then wrapped his fingers loosely around the braid and caressed the silky hair. Pausing to draw his strength from the song in his heart and the still undeniable expression of permission, of anticipation, in the other's face, he flashed a slight sweet smile of victory. "I know it has been tormented by the same dreams as mine."

Trembling despite his vain attempt to retain some self control, Elrond raspily breathed, "And what manner of dreams would those be?"

Dancing upon the edge of the moment, lingering in the balance of safety of silence until he found his voice, Legolas dived off into the abyss of what his heart so desired. "Let me show you," he huskily whispered, gently increasing the tension on that bridle of hair and pulling their lips together into a long-overdue meeting.

It began slow, tentative as the first fledgling wing flaps of a nest-cradled robin, then was given wing, soaring upon the call of their hearts into the crushing, breath-stealing oral embrace both had so long desired to taste. Greedy for greater contact, Legolas slowly found his feet and forgetting himself, pulled the Lord of Rivendell up with him, completing their contact with the most desperate of embraces. Unwilling to risk a change of heart in the staid statesman, Legolas wove his fingers through the thick mane of dark hair, capturing their mouths into permanent contact. It had been such a long journey to arrive at this moment. Nothing would come between them now -- nothing.

Part 4:

Her lovely features tilted upward to gaze upon the equally unique beauty of Ithil, Arwen Undomiel lost herself to the music of the night. Her father had long ago taught her to appreciate the myriad simple pleasures of the stillness of early evening, the transition between the brilliant clarity of the day and the slumbering promise of the night. Exhaling sadly, she wondered when he, himself, had stopped taking pleasure from the comforting cloak of the evening.

Yet, something of her father's old self had plainly returned, as evidenced by the inexplicable transformation she had noted since returning from Lothlorien several weeks before. He had, of course, denied anything had changed, but his denials were as feeble and translucent as they had been this afternoon.

On many a night she had caught him gazing out at the stars, not scowling south toward the ever looming memory and threat from Mordor, but northeast, the expression on his face far different -- lighter, younger, less troubled. Yes, something most definitely had brought change to her father's life -- positive change at that -- yet she was completely lost for tangible evidence. "No matter, Father. You will tell me, soon enough, or I will see for myself," she whispered. Smiling confidently to herself, Arwen carefully picked her way through the grove of trees. The night was still and clinging in its heat, and she remembered a favorite summer pastime she and her father had often secretly enjoyed when she was a child.

Approaching the bridge, she heard the muffled noises of multiple presences and curiously peered through the dimly lit underbrush. <<Has someone else discovered our wading spot?>> she unhappily surmised. Her eyes widened in the darkness, unbelieving what she now identified as the unmistakable sight of her father and the mysterious blond elf she had snatched glances of earlier that evening, engaged in the most passionate of embraces. Ducking low among the brush, she carefully pulled aside a single branch to gain a better look, yet not intrude upon the magic of their stolen moment. <<So this is the reason for the change in my father. He will not be able to deny it now!>>

As Arwen watched in quiet awe, the golden elf gently released his lip's embrace of the elder elf and gently stepped back, trailing his hands from their urgent lock on the back of Elrond's head to gently cup the dignified face. Feeling the thrill of love revealed and promises shared, Arwen wondered at the intensity in the way her father gazed back in return upon that unnamed fair face. What brought soaring joy to her heart was the reflexive depth of emotion seen in the stranger's eyes, in the way he tenderly brushed the back of a hand against her father's cheek.

A refrain of boundless rejoicing and grateful thanks sang through her heart, speaking to her utter happiness at her father's joy. It was all there, written across his revealing face in the unmistakable handwriting of the heart. Such obvious passion, such openhearted need, such undeniable love, she had never seen upon his face when he looked upon any other face, not even that of her long-departed mother.

That thought came without reproach, merely a blameless realization of fact. It affirmed her long-seated suspicions about the political basis for her parent's union. Unlike her brothers, Arwen understood her mother's wish to leave Middle-earth, and a loveless marriage. It was a lesson the Evenstar had silently learned at her mother's knee, and her father's, from an early age, merely by observing the emptiness in their hearts. She had made the pledge to herself never to bind herself save in true love, freely, to the person of _her_ choosing. She had not found someone who had thus stirred her heart in all her many centuries, yet she still had hope that one day she, too, would feel the same thrill of unwavering desire and devotion now so evident on her father's face.

Suddenly feeling guilty for spying on such a private tableau, Arwen stealthily crept away, content to save her countless questions for the light of dawn. For now, let them enjoy the night, and each other. She would have her own sweet dreams of the day she, too, would taste true love's promise.

Part 5:

With the ever watchful heavenly eye of the mithril hued moon their sole witness, and silent referee, the elves struggled up the stairs leading to Elrond's private chambers, locked in a pointless battle of wills. The impetuous prince led the awkward, kiss-blinded dance, impatiently hastening their ascent with insistent tugs on Elrond to move ever faster, obviously intent on tasting greater pleasures in private. On the other hand, Elrond was equally insistent in decelerating the frenzied pace, holding back and slowing Legolas' progress, more interested in enjoying the moment and maintaining the delicious, deeply tongued contact of their mouths to the fullest extent possible than a hasty arrival at their ultimate destination. Finally their feet found the terrace at the top of the flight firmly beneath them, and Elrond made his frustration abundantly clear. With a low growl reverberating in the back of this throat, he none too gently grabbed the other's wrists with both hands, held them roughly captive and raised them above their heads, then slammed Legolas into the wall behind them and assaulted the shock-gaped mouth with fevered fervor.

Legolas felt his knees begin to buckle, completely melting into the full body contact without a struggle. A groan of utter contentment and shivering anticipation thrummed through his flesh, the sound smothered by the ferocity of the elder elf's bruising assault.

"Is that what you desire?" Elrond breathlessly inquired in a whisper, "Or... is _this_?"

The pressure immediately released from Legolas' wrists, and his arms naturally snaked around Elrond's shoulders to complete their embrace. The maddeningly pleasure-filled mouth maintained its presence, but its contact was more tender, more sensuous. Elrond's hands never stop moving over him, deftly caressing every bit of velvet textured skin available to the touch. Fingers softly tickled at the nape of his neck, even as the other's mouth paid careful homage to first the slender upper lip, then its fuller companion, suckling and blessing each with the barest of nips and butterfly flicks of a tongue.

Smiling into the kisses he now trailed down the artistic length of the prince's neck, Elrond felt an erotic shudder pass through him at the throaty moan of loss torn from the other's mouth. "Well? Which will it be?" he purred evilly into a delicate ear, punctuating his query first with a deliberate tongue stroke around the outer rim, then purposefully nipping the sensitive tip.

"Both," Legolas groaned, unable to choose between pleasures so sweet. He found it difficult to breathe, to think, to do anything but _feel_.

With a wicked glint of a smile, Elrond leaned back slightly and gently stroked one high cheek. "Then with patience, you shall have it." Pausing, he searched the depths of those passion dilated eyes and felt his own legs begin to lose their solidity. "I have waited far too long for this to rush now," he whispered between tender chaste kisses. "I intend to savor every moment as if it were my last. <<If you can touch my flesh as you have my heart, it truly might be.>>

The kisses gradually intensified, as did the grasp each held on the other's shoulders. With the innate memory of one who has dwelt in one place far too long, Elrond easily maneuvered them to his bed chamber without breaking the union of their mouths. What few items were knocked from their normal resting places were thankfully unbreakable, and could easily be restored in the morning.

Once finally cocooned in the more complete privacy of Elrond's bedroom, they stopped in the center of the free space and concentrated all their motions on exploring the curves and angles of each other's forms through the layers of soft elvish garb. Taking a step out of Elrond's ever shifting embrace, Legolas paused, then flashed a sweet smile of loving intent at the Lord of Imladris. Elrond returned the smile, his fingers still moving tenderly over the sides of the other's slender hips.

Without a word, Mirkwood's jewel carefully laced his fingers between the silver diadem and the dark mane of hair and slid the distinctive symbol of office from its daily resting place. Taking several deft backward steps, Legolas reached out and respectfully placed the headpiece upon the dressing table, beside a small mithril box. With a loving smile, he reclaimed his position within Elrond's loosely slung, low embrace, and tenderly reached behind the other's head. Again, without a sound, and accompanied by the most adoring of smiles, he unfastened the silver clasp that held the top of a tightly formed braid, then carefully untwined the captive locks and arranged the hair loosely around the other's shoulders.

Elrond gently grasped a fussing hand, and with a smoldering expression of desire, slowly brought his latest prize up to his lips to claim it as his own. Pressing an exaggerated pucker into the delicate hollow at the slightly curved palm's center, he closed his eyes and with wicked intention tarried the tip of his tongue up along the sweet flesh, tasting the length of the index finger. Coming to its end, he briefly sucked in the tip of the digit, then returning his mouth along the path it had traveled, repeated his oral homage to the rest of the fingers in turn. When he had finished making a meal of that delicacy of a hand, he devoured the entirety of the forgotten thumb in one swift motion, tightly shutting his eyes as he devoted his entire attention to lavishing the most talented twirls of his tongue. Feeling a shudder reverberate through Legolas' flesh, he smiled slightly into his attack, then released the thumb with an exaggerated sucking sound.

Trying not to succumb to the monumentally distracting caress of the other's free hand across his robe screened posterior, Elrond trailed kisses and licks down the wrist, along the delicate alabaster flesh covering an ever more rapidly throbbing pulse. Finally surrendering to the insistency of Legolas' fingers now digging into the side of his robe covered thigh, he released the wrist, took a slight step backward, and began to unfasten his own clothes, a mixture of joyful longing, shivering anticipation, and approval-seeking hope reflected in his every feature.

"No," Legolas softly, insistently, whispered, his now freed hands stilling the other's. "Please, let me."

Elrond instantly lost himself in the pleading in those sea colored eyes and relented without question, dropping his arms loosely to his sides.

With the graceful motions of a dance, Legolas deftly divested the elder elf of his elegantly embroidered robes, carefully, reverently unwrapping this most rare of gifts. When all the outward trappings of nobility lay pooled upon the floor at Elrond's feet, Legolas took a step backward, allowed his eyes to drink their fill of the entirety of the other's delicious form, then with a knowing half smile of eternal youth and mischief, began to slowly shed his own outer skin.

With nothing remaining between them save the air itself, the elves unabashedly savored the sight of each other's unadorned flesh, and the passion fired instinctive response now fully arisen in their loins.

Elrond closed the distance between them, hesitantly reaching out and fleetingly brushing his fingers across the other's cheek, then shoulder, then the solid flat of a stomach. "I know this sounds utterly foolish," he huskily breathed, "but there is so much of you I desire to taste, I do not know where to begin."

The cheeky grin of youth flashed across the prince's face. "Then let me make the choice for you," he sultrily answered. Claiming the perimeter of the noble face with loosely cupping fingers, he pressed his lips against their newly found home, slowly and tenderly, slipping into Elrond's full body embrace as if he was donning the most luxurious of robes. Sweetly they tasted of each other, then out of nowhere Legolas intensified his assault to a rolling fervidness long since left behind. A low growl, born of pleasures finally imagined and the pain of anticipation of more delights to come, erupted from somewhere deep inside Elrond. Before its echo had evaporated, Legolas changed his strategy once more, back to an agonizingly slow tempo he found he could not bear for long.

Fortunately for them both, Elrond put an unambiguous end to this first act of the play. "You are a quick study, Legolas," he murmured, between the delicate suckles now applied to his lower lip. "But would the lesson not be more sweet in my bed?"

Smiling into the question posing mouth, Legolas teased, "Now who grows impatient?"

With an arched eyebrow, Elrond pulled away and forced a weak imitation of annoyance. "Do you know what humans do to their insolent children? They bend them over their knee and give them a sound thrashing with hand across buttocks. Do you wish for me to demonstrate first hand?"

Despite his initial hesitation at such a foreign sounding thought, Legolas found the possibility strangely erotic. "If it means that you would touch me instead of taunt me, I might be convinced."

"Touching you is all my mind can think of." Wrapping his arms around the prince's slender waist, he reclaimed the eagerly captured lips and floated their bodies across the floor to tumble together onto the awaiting mattress. Intertwined like the vines of the forest beyond, the elves wrapped leg around leg, arms around shoulders, ever mindful of the need to take their breaths from each other's lips. The erotic tingling tension of turgid flesh pinned between trapping hips ripped twinned moans of urgent need from their bodies, the prelude already having gone on far too long to possibly delay the delicious inevitable.

"What is your pleasure, my Lord?" Legolas moaned most eagerly, torn between the equally inviting sensual sensations of one set of the other's fingers snaking between them to grasp the length of his steeled need, while the other fingers ran along the sensitive cleft between his rear cheeks.

Visibly troubled by the words, and even more so by the perceived meaning, Elrond stilled his hands and leaned back to seek out the hesitation in the achingly beautiful face. "I am not your lord, Legolas, nor am I anyone's in my bed. _You_ are my pleasure." Flashing a hint of a sweet smile, Elrond claimed a brief tender kiss. "All of you. Just as I desire you to taste all of me." The smile on his lips turned mischievous, fraught with tantalizing desire and playfulness. "If I say once more that I cannot decide which parts of you I wish to enjoy first, will you again make the decision for me?" Noting the not unexpected uncertainty in the other's expression, he supped his fill of those wanton lips once more, then rolled to the side to drink in the entirety of the lanky moon-kissed length sprawled beneath him on the bed. Such beauty made his heart ache, and rejoice at the very same time. If this be a dream, then may he never be tortured with awakening. "By Elbereth's grace, I shall enjoy both before the night is through."

Part 6:

Legolas' lips found speedy solace in the other's passion-eagered kisses, desirous to couple as completely as the laws of matter would permit with the most enthralling partner of his two centuries. So many layers of hidden emotions, shades of meaning, each revealing itself over the course of this magical night just as the previous strata was stripped away. He was well aware that what he'd thought he'd known of Elrond was merely the smallest green shoot, rising up from the far greater depths of the opaque forest floor beneath. What truly astounded him, excited him well beyond the obvious sweet-pained fire of need and arousal the other's touch brought to his flesh, was just how far and deep the roots delved. It would take centuries to explore the breadth of that experience, decipher the secreted significance of each sigh, every brood-filled askance glance, the source of each worry raised line crossing the dignified visage.

<<Elbereth, dare I beg for the blessing of having that very chance?>> The conscious meanderings of mind suddenly became impossible, the overwhelmingly erotic sensation of velvety fingertips brushing along the firmly curved underside of his ass driving him to utter and complete distraction. Moaning into the continual onslaught of deeply tongued kisses, Legolas snaked a hand between their stomachs and wrapped the fingers of one hand around both their urgent needs. "Choose, before I cannot," he huskily whispered, slowly stroking the dew-tipped shafts in tandem.

A gasp erupted from his lips, blending seamlessly into a joyous moan of anticipation at the pressure of insistent fingers sliding between those tight, rounded cheeks. Crying out under the crushing weight of overpowering pleasure, he rocked back slightly to increase the directness of the contact, then moaned more urgently as he was rewarded by the uniquely intimate gift of a single fingertip fluttering across the delicately puckered entrance hidden within.

A heart rending cry of urgent disappointment and monumental loss ripped from his throat as the fingers retreated, and simultaneously Elrond released his lips, the Lord of Imladris momentarily rolling away from his embrace toward the edge of the bed behind him. With need-dilated, beseeching eyes the color of midnight, he observed Elrond's silent motions with deliberation, his disappointment soon transformed to the delight-filled shivering of expectation. While he watched with silent, joyous approval, Elrond collected a small crystal container from his bedside table and poured a palmful of fragrant herbal oil into one hand. Sighing in the comfort of divine pleasures already received and those even more blissful now destined to arrive, Legolas accepted the return of the other's lips, and the heat and scent of the fuller body pressed against his, with enthusiastic encouragement. A contented sigh of anticipation shuddered through his kiss-owned mouth, as he felt Elrond's slickened fingers anoint their achingly close hardened flesh. The sigh deepened, crescendoed, then ended as a shivering moan of approval as the oil glossed fingers snaked behind his back and raked along the sensitive starburst of flesh once more.

Slowly sliding into the eager opening, a solitary digit patiently prepared the snugly fitting flesh, until the impatience of youth snatched away control. Legolas thrust backward to impale himself completely, then pushed forward to rub his cock against the other's. Throaty moans turned more urgent still as a second finger joined the first, the bratish prince more urgently kissing Elrond while rocking his body back and forth between the equally enticing Scylla of being possessed and Charybdis of possessing. The soon addition of a third ignited his flesh, drove all thoughts save the instinctive urge for deeper pleasure from his mind, and he cried out for an end to the teasing. His endurance of the momentary pain, created by the unnatural seeming emptiness as the fingers slid from him, was swiftly rewarded with a final breath stealing kiss, and then Legolas' voyage to the very zenith of celestial bliss began.

Cocooned in the unexpectedly perfect fit of Elrond's body, Legolas found himself gently rolled over onto his right side, then smiled gratefully at the immediate sense of being completed as the elder elf spooned up behind him. His entire body becoming wholly boneless with delight, Legolas merely _enjoyed_ with shivered sexual thrill as his upper leg was lifted skyward by a forearm snaked between his thighs. Breathless with anticipation and aching need, he hooked his leg over Elrond's elbow, then felt himself suddenly rocked back against the solid chest by an insistent hand. The unmistakable presence of an equally insistent pressure pressed against his wanton and willing intimate entrance wrenched a sharp cry of encouragement from his lips. A final smoldering gaze shared, another breathless, lingering kiss of anticipation, then Elrond gently bit into Legolas' shoulder and filled him utterly.

Dancing upon the knife blade of pleasure and pain, Legolas toppled over into the purest delights imaginable as Elrond slowly sheathed himself. Together, their bodies fit far better than his arm and its usual leather bracings, the brooding Lord becoming an innate extension of himself. As they rocked back and forth as one, he could not discern where his body ended and the other's began. Legolas reached up a hand and wound his fingers through the dark curtain of hair cascading over his shoulder and onto his chest, losing himself in the uniquely elvish texture. With closed eyes he relished the firm, honey oiled hand wrapped around his cock, waves of heavenly sensations washing over him, each beginning before the last had a chance to wane.

The fevered song in his flesh matched that in his heart, and he ached to give voice to his joy, but found his head far too swimming to do so. Hearing Elrond moan behind him, low and lyrical, sent convulsive shivers through his passion blushed flesh. He had always adored being sung to by his lovers, low and sweet as the heat of their union overtook them, but this was by far the sweetest melody he had ever heard, a song in and of itself.

Yet Elrond had one final sensual surprise for him, softly breaking out into recognizable song, breathless and wracked, yet so delicious and beautiful all the same as it hummed through his ear.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel...,"

"...silivren penna mriel...."

"...o menel aglar elenath!...."

Legolas could not contain the joy in his heart, the shiver in his skin, the engulfing brilliant light sparking through his brain. With soft, sharp cries, he spilled his release across his stomach and the other's hand. He collapsed back against Elrond just as the elder elf abandoned the devotional song for the guttural scream of release, only slightly muffled by the solid, roughly bitten flesh of Legolas' shoulder.

They lay in silence, collapsed against each other and the sheets, Elrond still sheathed inside his new lover. Legolas held his breath, wishing the moment could be frozen in time, nay, outside of time. It was so perfect, his own taste of the Blessed Lands, far surpassing any dream he had enjoyed in his solitary bed, even when he had touched himself and cried out Elrond's name under his breath in surreptitious release. He had always ached afterwards in his abject loneliness, in his boundless and guilt-tinged longing. Now he rejoiced in the completeness of reality, the scent of sex hanging low and sweet in the air like the morning dew, the raspy breathing in his ear, and the cool sheen of his sweat and Elrond's intermingled on their skin.

Encouraged by gentle fingers cupping his chin to crane back his neck and collect a much deserved kiss, Legolas sighed into the warmth of the moistness, shifted onto his back and rolled into the awaiting embrace as he felt Elrond slide away from him. After several silent moments locked in the comfort of each other's arms, Legolas leaned back, allowing a soul exposing moment of mutual gaze. Faintly smiling, he recognized the same hesitant expression of the nakedness of the heart reflected in the other's eyes, and swiped the barest of kisses from those enthralling lips.

Reaching down a hand between their bodies, Legolas discovered the sticky testimony of their passion, and rubbed a finger through a thick pearly strand of liquid. "You said you wished to taste all of me," he hesitantly offered, presenting his self dampened hand to Elrond.

"Indeed I did." Without the slightest hesitation, Elrond twirled his tongue around the proffered fingertip, then sucked it in completely, his eyes never leaving Legolas' openly awed gaze. With a knowing hint of a smile, Elrond pushed the prince back flat against the sheets, pinned his wrists to the sheets beside his hips, and straddled the his knees. Lowered his mouth to gently nip one of the perfectly peaked pale nipples, then the other, Elrond trailed his ever circling and flicking tongue down the center line of Legolas' torso. Stopping briefly to lap up all the evidence of their lovemaking, he continued to explore the flawless pale skin, his tongue finding a new home along the ticklish joint where thigh met groin.

While Legolas softly moaned in renewed pleasure, Elrond tormented him with delicate butterfly kisses, gentle nips, and leisurely applied tongue laps along his inner thighs. Legolas ached to clutch onto the thick cascade of hair that brushed against his stomach, but his wrists were still held captive, and his squirms were mitigated by the weight of the other's body now straddling his lower legs. Feeling the heat of his body return its fiery focus to his renewed hardness, he cried out his agonizing frustration. "Ai, ai, you torment me!"

The assault suddenly ceased, and the bulkier body shimmied up along his legs and straddled his upper thighs. Legolas shuddered in joyful delight as the other's semi recovered prowess rubbed against his already painfully eager flesh.

Elrond leaned over his chest, the shower of hair tickling his chest as he whispered into Legolas' ear, "What would you do, if I released you now?"

Cocking his head to the side, Legolas strained to bring his mouth into breathless contact with that shameless taunt. He sucked in the arousal amplified lower lip, nipped it hard enough to draw the barest coppery taste of blood, then brazenly answered, "I would claim you for my own."

Part 7:

<<"Claim me as your own, again.">> The echo of a haunting memory of a long past age whispered through Elrond's head, causing him to unconsciously stiffen under Legolas' utterly erotic touch. The sudden transformation could not go unnoticed.

"What is the matter?" the prince queried, his eyes dark with innate uncertainty and the obvious dread of rejection.

With as sweet a half smile as the tormented Lord of Imladris could muster, he tried to soothe the other's unfounded fears. "Nothing under heaven or upon Middle-earth."

"Then why do you hesitate?"

"I do not hesitate," Elrond plainly prevaricated, "I merely pause to enjoy the memory of one I once held most dear."

The wreath of hurt ringing Legolas' soul mirroring eyes deepened to unbearable levels. "I remind you of another? In what manner?"

Greatly pained himself in the distress he had unwittingly created, Elrond pulled Legolas into a contact capitalizing, tangled limbed embrace. "In how you make my heart and my body sing." <<How lost I feel in you, yet so very found.>> Kissing those doubt pouted lips deeply, desperately, he wrapped his fingers around the delicate side braids framing the prince's face. At last, he felt the tightly coiled tension of hesitation flow from Legolas' body and melted into the other's increasingly passionate oral volley.

Legolas eagerly accepted control of the moment, and shifted his weight to roll the elder elf underneath his own lithe frame, all the while still exchanging desperate kisses in a fevered frenzy of need and desire. While Elrond still blazoned trails of heated kisses down his neck and chest, he reached over to bedside table and swiped the diminutive decanter off its surface. Pouring out more than enough of the aromatic, silky oil, he swiftly returned the bottle to its proper place, then lowered his lips to reclaim the sole attention of Elrond's mouth. After deftly slickening his own demandful flesh, Legolas wrapped Elrond's right leg around his waist with his unoiled hand, then gracefully lifted the left limb to rest upon his shoulder. With a breathless sigh of utter contentment, he insinuated himself into the newly created kneeling space. Leaning forward over the smooth expanse of the arc of Elrond's torso, he kissed that slightly parted mouth deeply, urgently, while at the same time carefully sliding a single hesitant finger underneath their bodies and inside the other's most private flesh.

Moaning within a hint of a smile, Elrond nibbled down upon the lower lip pressed against his mouth, and whispered, low and husky with blinding need, "You need not treat me as you would a maiden. I would have you _now_."

Legolas drew away his mouth and spread a careless row of soft kisses along the other's brow. "And you will, when _I_ say." With that, he brusquely reclaimed the complaining lips, and simultaneously slid two more fingers inside to join the first.

A shocked gasp of delight, tinged every so slightly with the sweet spice of pain, flew from Elrond's mouth to the younger's awaiting lips. "So now you torment _me_!" he groaned most urgently, the words wracked and barely intelligible by the tremble thrumming through his entire body.

"Never," Legolas whispered into a more tender kiss. Adroitly sliding his fingers from their temporary home, he balanced his weight upon both bow-strengthened arms, and with a slight shift of his hips, brought the weeping head of his cock into proper position. Tumbling into the heady spell of the moment, he lingered at the velvety inward folding entrance to enjoy the palpable tension in the air, the low, throaty moan echoing in his ear, and the shimmering shiver of the glorious body beneath him. Unable to resist the temptation now awaiting his pleasure, he thrust himself forward, plunging slowly, deliberately past the initial tension and into the formfitting velvet glove of Elrond's body, even while plunging his tongue into those passion-gasped lips.

Together they moved as a single entity, seamlessly fitting together body and soul in that most intimate of ways that only the most blessed of lovers know. Far too soon they reached the place where even breathing itself became a source of rejoicing, the entire universe extending no farther than the boundaries of their flesh. Sensing he was tumbling down the steep cliff to the most exquisite of journey's ends, Legolas leaned back on his knees, and tightly grasping Elrond's legs, galloped home. A few final hip grinding lunges, and he threw back his head, crying out in wracked staccato verse not even the Valar could understand, then desperately clamped his teeth into the sensitive side of Elrond's knee and succumbed to the tremors of his flesh.

After a few moments robbed of both breath and mindful thought, Legolas felt enough control over his flesh to open his eyes, his sated sex still sheathed within the other's tight intimate grasp. Pressing a lingering, love filled kiss into the slightly bruised flesh of the knee he so tightly clutched, he felt shifting movement beneath him, and glanced down in time to see Elrond desperately wrap an urgency driven hand around his own still unfulfilled flesh. Without hesitation, he knocked away the hand, replacing it with his own graceful fingers. Without a word, he masterfully stroked the unintentionally neglected cock, and was soon rewarded with the sensation of stiffening muscles surrounding every part of him, the rising sound of guttural moans reverberating through the night, and then the most delicious of sights, as Elrond arched beneath him, fingers digging desperately back into the pillows, then the spasmed release coating his hand, his name melodiously murmured on the other's lips as a mantra of love and delight.

* * *

Afterward they lay comfortably cradled in each other's arms, slaked and silent save for Legolas' barely audible lyrical hum of joy. Staring out the window, he wondered at how the delicate silver of the moonlight blessed the trees beyond with a priceless veil. Suddenly the illumination intensified, an errant direct beam of moonlight piercing through the window. Legolas leaned up on an elbow from his pleasant pillow of Elrond's chest and marveled as the purest of heavenly lights highlighted every angled feature in that finally peaceful face. "The light becomes you, Ithilas," he whispered with a tender smile before claiming another kiss from those well explored lips.

An eyebrow cocked slightly in mild amusement. " _Ithilas_? Have we now come to that?" Elrond teased gently at the playful pet name. Noting the hesitation of uncertainty tingled insult so apparent in the younger elf's expression, he cupped the questioning face and slowly revolved Legolas' body beneath his. "You may call me whatever you wish. Any name given from your lips would be desirable." He flashed a slight smile of vowed sincerity, then devoured that entreating mouth once more. He could never drink enough of the sigh exhaled breath to quench his thirst, could never tire of tasting those delicate oral petals. He was as a prisoner of the blackness of a starless night released after a long absence from the freedom of the light. Hunger born of the starvation of the heart, the endless aching of an empty bed and emptier arms, consumed him to the core. He could not get enough of the sensation of the other's perfect silken skin under his touch, the faint whisper of the other's breath, the vibrancy of each and every individual portion of the prince's being. It was futile, but he was certainly not above desperately trying.

Legolas sighed under the continuing sweet spring rain of kisses and caresses gifted upon him. After so many lonely nights wishing for this very dream to be granted sweet reality, he could scarcely believe the joyful chorus his senses sang to him in unison. Surely Elbereth, herself, smiled upon him, smiled upon them both. Grinning in utter contentment, he reached out a hand and tenderly brushed back the dark wisp of hair which interrupted his view of the entirety of the landscape of Elrond's features. It was then, in the fading moonlight, that he clearly saw it in the other's changeable eyes -- a hint of the deep-rooted sorrow of the ages, and more. There was a specific, unique pain which lay hidden there, thinly veiled by the cover of momentary joy he knew he had created on the surface.

The fickle light shifted again, and the window into Elrond's soul was closed, yet Legolas realized the anguish he had glimpsed remained there still. "Tell me of him," he tentatively whispered, leisurely running a finger along the delectable lower lip.

"Who?" Elrond whispered, pressing a hint of a kiss into the fleeting finger.

"The one who still holds your heart in its thrall."

Elrond blinked stiffly, shocked at the prince's insight, as well as the apparent transparency of his own heart. Forcing a reassuring hint of a smile to his lips, he gently grasped the caressing hand, brought the palm to his lips for a lingering kiss, then hastily clutched their clasped hands to his chest. "If I were to do as you ask, I would only be speaking of you." It was not the truth, yet it was not a lie, the reality lying somewhere in the uneasy space between. He swiftly reclaimed the other's mouth so those inquisitive eyes could not see the agony of internal strife on his face. He so wanted it to be the truth, and yet there was some part of him unwilling to allow it to be so. Could he still be bound to promises made so long ago? Would _he_ have wished Elrond to remain a prisoner to memories of both bliss and suffering? Undoubtedly, no.

Pulling Legolas to him, Elrond lay back flat against the pillows, securely cradling the other's head against his chest. "Do you remember when you sang to me, under the stars, when we were almost as close as we are now?"

"How could I ever forget?" Legolas whispered sadly. "It is all I have dreamed of, and regretted, these past years."

"Regretted?"

"That it ended as it did."

A fleeting smile of remorse turned to acceptance painted Elrond's expression. "Then I am not the only one who has suffered with regrets." Stroking the fingers of his unbound hand against the finely sculpted arch of an artistic cheek, he felt the slightest of shivers echo through Legolas' flesh. "I can still remember the way you trembled against me," he huskily whispered. "I so desired to taste your mouth, to feel the sensation of your skin upon mine, as it is now." Pressing a lingering, tender kiss into the passion-mussed tangle of hair, he lay one cheek upon the soft golden pillow and sighed under his breath. "Finish your song."

The slender body squirmed uneasily beneath him. "Why? It is a sad tale."

"It was not completely without happiness, Legolas. Not all of it. Just how it ended." Tightening his embrace, Elrond wondered if he was referring to the song itself, or the story behind the song -- a bittersweet chapter in the tale of his own life. "Please, do as I ask. It will send the spirit back to Mandos, where he shall find peace... and so shall I."

"Which spirit?"

Swallowing hard, Elrond tightly squeezed his eyes closed, conjured up the most vivid mental image of his former lover the distance of memory would allow, then slowly, and not without pained pangs of regret and renewed loss, allowed it to fade. "The one whose presence you felt... the one you saw inside my heart."

Legolas shut his eyes and tried to drive from his mind the undeniable sound of pain in that softly spoken pleading admission. Elrond had clearly been carrying a festering wound in his heart for years uncountable. It was not an injury Legolas could heal through kisses or caresses nor any other pleasure that his body could grant. If he could lessen its intensity merely with song, then he would gladly sing to Elrond any song he wished, every moment for the rest of eternity. Clearing his throat, he brought their tight hand clasp to his lips and blessed it with a kiss, then tucked their hands tightly under his chin. Low and sweet, he began to sing, a song he had learned to curse for how it had inexplicable interrupted the most treasured moment of his life.

"Gil-Galad was an Elven-king.  
Of him the harpers sadly sing:  
the last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea."

Elrond closed his eyes and allowed his senses to clutch on to the sound of Legolas' sweet tongue, as well as the sensation of his skin beneath him. Nuzzling his nose into the gilded forest of hair, he finally let go of the reins of his emotions, and allowed the final, cleansing tears to silently flow, his final farewell to the glorious radiant starlight of his younger years at last complete. Yet even as the memories were carefully put into their proper place in the great library of his life experience, he felt enveloped and blessed by the pure healing rays of another brilliant light, who had risen just as the other now set. Secure and blessed in the arms of Malthenel, his own golden star, Elrond finally found the peace he had so long desired.

Part 8:

With the melody on his lips equally as celebratory as the one singing through his love-filled heart, Legolas leisurely meandered out from Elrond's bedchamber, one hand slowly fastening the buttons on his mithril hued tunic while the other vainly tried to shepherd the sleep and sex strayed strands of hair back into place. Dawn had arrived long before, but the elves had decided to forego its call, instead tarrying among the sheets to allow themselves one further serving of each other's delectable flesh before returning to the reality of the world beyond. <<How many hours must I suffer through until nightfall? Hopefully, he will recover his strength by then.>> Grinning madly at this private joking, Legolas wandered into the outer sitting room completely oblivious to its patiently awaiting occupant.

"A little early for an audience with my father, is it not?"

Legolas froze mid-step, his wide-eyed gasp of surprise immediately drawn to the direction of the sultry female voice. There, sitting quite comfortably in Elrond's favorite chair, was a raven haired elvish maiden, the tauntingly smug expression curiously similar to one he had seen on Elrond's face not long before.

Her amusement at Legolas' inability to form a coherent sentence further widening her smile, the maiden slowly rose from the chair, gently clasping together her hands in front of her elegant pearl-hued gown. "Or should I say it is a little late for last night's audience to have dragged on. I really must remind my father it is exceedingly impolite to tire out our guests so."

Feeling the heat of embarrassment ripen in his cheeks, Legolas loudly cleared his throat, and spoke in a register far too high for an elf. "Your _father_?" Fortunately shaking the sex-spun cobwebs from his brain, he nodded in final understanding and relief. "Lady Arwen -- I apologize." Recovering something of his manners, he reverently bowed before continuing, grateful that his brain could still function at some level beyond that required in the bedroom. "Your brothers spoke to me of your beauty, but their words could not prepare me for the truth of your loveliness."

"Nor my father's words?" she slowly teased, clearly wringing every drop of pleasure from this game of verbal torture. "Ah, but I expect he was far too taken with _your_ charms to speak of anything else." She deliberately paused, allowing the razor sharp blade of her words to complete one complete twist. "Do you have a name, or have you forgotten it along with your tongue?"

"Legolas of Mirkwood, my lady," he managed to babble, daring a glance back toward Elrond's chambers. He wasn't certain whether he was more afraid that Elrond was going to interrupt this unnerving interrogation, or that he would _not_ interrupt it.

A hint of an arch appeared in one of Arwen's eyebrows. "Mirkwood? My father has never spoken kindly of its citizens. I expect his opinion has greatly changed." A glimmer of evil intent sparkled in her clear blue eyes, as she leaned down beside the chair and collected a familiar pair of soft leather boots. "I assume these are yours. I found them with my father's shoes, under the bridge, where he used to take me on stifling summer nights to cool my feet." She held out the boots toward the obviously squirming elf prince. "From your appearance this morning, I assume he _cooled_ only your feet."

Utterly speechless, Legolas mumbled a word of thanks and hurriedly collected his boots, tucked them under one arm, and bowed to leave. He found his retreat suddenly halted by an insistent hand on his shoulder. He reluctantly dared meet her eyes, and found the smile had turned pure, the twinkle in her eyes now one of obvious joy.

"I am sorry, Legolas, but it has been far too long since I have any reason to make levity where my father is concerned. I hope that blush has not become a permanent addition to your features."

"I will recover," Legolas answered with a chuckle, sensing the mood had thankfully changed for the better.

"I had sensed the colors were brighter in Imladris this summer, though I did not understand the reason." Her smile warming and broadening to rival the splendor of the dawn, Arwen gently adjusted the captive collar of Legolas' tunic. "Now I do."

"If there is a special light in Rivendell, it comes from your father, not from me," the prince protested.

"You do not understand the change you have wrought in him. I see it more clearly than the very sun in the sky. The joy in his eyes is only rivaled by that which is in your eyes." The smile twitching on her lips, Arwen tenderly leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss upon the prince's cheek. "Thank you for bringing the light back into his face. I have missed it more than you could ever know."

Legolas smiled in understanding, his heart further gladdened to know that he had not hastily overestimated his own importance in Elrond's life. The sound of careless footsteps and distracting humming caught his ear, and he and Arwen separated, instinctively glancing back toward the sound of the approaching presence.

Oblivious to all but the most marvelous of memories replaying in his mind, Elrond burst into the sitting room, shrugging his robes around his body, his diadem casually cradled in one hand. The musical murmuring in his throat halted along with his footsteps, an expression of concerned confusion creasing his brow. "Arwen? What are you doing here?"

"Talking to a butterfly, Father," Arwen joyously laughed, throwing her arms around him in a childish affectionate exuberance she hadn't felt in centuries. Pressing a loud, decidedly undignified kiss on his cheek, she tenderly touched his carefully brushed hair, appreciating how the subtle yet uncharacteristic lack of any braid or clasp binding it away from his face made him appear more tranquil and trouble free than she had ever seen him. A smile on her lips and a song of joy in her heart, Arwen gave her shocked father a final affectionate squeeze, flashed a secretive smile at Legolas, then hurried out to the terrace and left them in peace.

Drawing in a loud, steeling inhale of breath, Elrond raised an eyebrow in exasperation and shook his head. "She is _my_ daughter," he grumbled in explanation, noting the lingering amused expression of bewilderment on Legolas' face.

Part 9:

The first hint of autumn had finally come to Imladris, carried on the crisp breeze which now whistled through the airy architecture of Elrond's realm. Delighting in the delicate trace of a chill, a golden haired elf sang softly to himself while he toiled. Bent over the wooden writing table, he faithfully copied the distinctive rounded script from the ancient original into a new, ornately decorated volume of parchment. Glorfindel had always found such work soothing, allowing him to exercise his mind in reading and enjoying the text even while he found relaxation in the relative tedium of scribing. Elrond had asked him to personally make a copy of this most private of journals a month earlier, and the clandestine project was now a mere few sentences away from completion.

The secrecy of the work was never explained, but Glorfindel understood Elrond well enough to refrain from asking for further explanations than what had originally been given. He suspected it had a great deal to do with the young prince from Mirkwood who now seemed inseparable from the Lord of Imladris. Gossip was not a pastime worthy of the denizens of the valley, and yet many secret smiles of understanding had passed among the elder of the elves at the way the normally staid and unflappable Elrond sometimes appeared flustered in the prince's presence. And yet, if the gift he prepared _was_ meant for the golden haired prince, and _if_ the reason for the gift was the closeness they seemed to share, then why had Elrond chosen this particular work?

Carefully turning the page of the age-fragiled original, Glorfindel sighed sadly at the final notation. <<"Here ends the truthful account of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and the death of Ereinion Gil-galad, ar-nin, melethron-nin, cuil-nin, Last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth. Faithfully transcribed in great sorrow this second year of the Third Age, by Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris.>> He paused, replaced his ink pen in its holder, and stared at the damning words. Why would Elrond wish for his new lover to read the detailed story of the death of his last? For although there was no direct mention in the text itself of the great devotion which had passed between Gil-galad and his closest friend, the depths of Elrond's emotions leapt up at the reader from the very first page, in subtle phrasings, and lingering descriptions. No, the sorrowed words of the ending were merely unnecessary confirmation which would surprise no careful reader.

<<Does he remember what he had written? Did he look to see the inscription before he gave it to me to copy?>> Perhaps he should merely end the reproduction where it was, without the postscript. Sighing in his uneasiness, Glorfindel recalled Elrond's firm instructions to transcribe it from beginning to end, faithfully, carefully, with no omissions or corrections. With a sincere wish that Elrond would not later regret his loyalty, Glorfindel reclaimed his pen and finished the task which had been appointed to him.

* * *

Drinking in the still strong afternoon rays of summer's leisurely yet inevitable retreat, the Lord of Rivendell and his beloved shared a cliff-side divan and the increasingly addicting pleasure of each other's company.

Tilting his face into the wind, Elrond breathed deeply, smiling at what he found. "Do you smell that, Legolas? The leaves will soon turn to gold." He had always followed the changing of the seasons with the barest of interest, but the promise of sharing the first golden hues kissing the trees of Rivendell _this_ autumn brought a song of expectation to his heart.

"They do so in Mirkwood, as well," Legolas teased gently, amused by the excitement in the elder elf's voice. Smiling sweetly, he tenderly clasped one of the other's hands in his and raised it to his lips for a fleeting kiss. They had been careful thus far to keep their relationship painfully discrete, although neither was exactly certain why. None in Rivendell seemed to take note of Elrond's private life -- with the obvious exception of his daughter -- and neither of them expected nor wished for approval other than that which the lady had freely given.

A flash of white in the distance caught Legolas' eye and he turned away from Elrond's smoldering gaze. Four elf-raised horses and their riders carefully followed one of Elrond's sentries down the meandering path on the far side of the gorge. Peering out at the approaching party, Legolas felt his heart drop to the very floor of the valley itself at the recognition of what he spied. Gripping the stone wall with bloodless fingers, he shot up to his feet and scowled. "Those are my father's sentries -- they bear his standard!" Not waiting for Elrond to follow, he ran off toward the main gate on the wings of fear-hastened feet.

Finally completed with his project, Glorfindel wandered out from the library to make his report, nearly colliding with the fleet-footed prince as he rushed past. Staring at Legolas' retreating form with apprehensive perplexity, he jerked around to face the approaching hastened footsteps of his Lord. "Elrond -- what is wrong?" he inquired, his unease not diminished by the grimness of the other's expression.

"Thranduil's men have arrived unannounced," he warily warned, "and we do not know what news they bear."

Glorfindel nodded solemnly and gestured toward the path before them. "Then let us find out."

* * *

Legolas waited impatiently at the cliff's edge, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He barely felt Elrond arrive behind him, shooting his lover only the briefest of pained expressions of dread.

The caravan carefully threaded its way along the narrow pass to the widening at the main gate and Elrond's patrol saluted to his master before stepping aside.

The first in the line of wonder-expressioned Mirkwood soldiers beamed a relieved smile at Legolas as he dismounted from his steed. "My Lord -- by Elbereth's grace, you are indeed well and safe!"

Wrinkles of confusion creased the prince's face. "Why would you believe otherwise?"

"Your father grew concerned as your visit here continued on without word. He has made it clear that he does not approve of your continued absence."

Confusion turned to insult, nostrils flaring at the insinuations in that answer. "It is not his place to approve or disapprove of my comings and goings in the world, Findegil," Legolas heatedly retorted. "I will remain here as long as _I_ wish it."

With a nervous tongue swipe of his lower lip, the wary sentry hesitated, shooting Elrond and Glorfindel unease glances. "My lord, I do not wish to mediate between you and your father. I have known you since you were a child, and him a great deal longer, and we both know that he does have the right to be interested in your safety."

"You fear for his safety?" The velvet hushed female voice insinuated itself into the heated conversation even as its owner carefully laced her slender form between Elrond and Legolas. With a bewitching smile upon her lips, she curled an arm around the prince's and lovingly patted his shoulder. "Does he look to be in any peril here?"

Findegil was visibly astonished, as were his silent companions, by the beauty of the lady, and the implication in her demeanor. "No, of course not, my lady. I did not mean to insinuate anything of the sort. Please accept my apologies if you were offended."

Arching an eyebrow almost imperceptivity, Elrond took a step backward and allowed his daughter to diffuse the situation in a way only she seemed able to do.

"You apologies are accepted," Arwen sweetly answered. "And I apologize to your lord if his son's lengthy absence caused him distress. It appears he has found some manner of pleasure in Rivendell's beauty, and has not been eager to leave it behind."

Shooting Legolas an impressed expression, Findegil bowed slightly to Arwen. "I can surely understand his reluctance to leave... but his father _was_ quite clear in his instructions to us...." Becoming more grim, he glanced backward at his companions, then swallowed hard. "Is there some place we can speak freely, my prince?" he awkwardly inquired, obviously mindful of Elrond's ever watchful eye. He had heard stories about the powerful Lord of Imladris, and wondered if his thoughts were truly confidential.

"You may speak freely here," Elrond offered, "Unless Legolas desires a private conversation."

The fire in Legolas' eyes belied that possibility. "Speak, Findegil, before my patience is exhausted."

"I did not wish to speak of this in the company of others, but you leave me no choice." With a loud, defeated exhale, Findegil wearily rubbed his forehead with one hand. "The orcs of the forest have mounted their greatest offensive in years. They have pushed through our sentries almost all the way to the mountains. Your father greatly desires the precision of your bow in our counterattack. That is the true reason for our invasion of your privacy."

Insult turned to alarm, the prince's expression softening instantly. "Ai! Then he shall have it! We will leave in the morning." Only after the words had left his mouth did he dare a surreptitious glance over his shoulder at the scowling countenance he had fully expected to find. But it was the words which were spoken by the steel-voiced lips which caught him off guard.

"This is indeed serious. Rivendell cannot sit idly by while Mirkwood suffers under such a threat. Take your rest now, and this night we will discuss how we can aid in your battle."

Stunned, Legolas merely observed in silence as Findegil and company thanked Elrond and followed Glorfindel up along the path to their accommodations, the solitary sentry heading back down the precipitous path to his duties. As all passed safely out of view, he felt the pressure on his arm release, and turned to face Arwen's sadly smiling face.

"I hope you do not find me too bold to mislead them so, but I knew they would not understand as I do." Placing a comforting kiss upon Legolas' cheek, she then flashed a hopeful smile at her father. "Let them believe the spell he has fallen under is mine. Let them learn to trust you, before they face the truth." With a gentle squeeze of Elrond's shoulder, she turned to leave, granting her father the privacy to be thanked by Legolas in a manner befitting his generous offer and their mutual affection.

Part 10

The far too swiftly arriving morning found the lovers silent in the awkwardness of Legolas' preparations for departure. Their lovemaking of that night had been especially passionate, yet strangely bereft of words, leaving both to ponder the curious change and attach to it unnecessarily momentous shades of meaning. Rivendell's offer of aid had been fleshed out before they had retired to their bed, and Thranduil's soldiers had been astounded at the generosity of Elrond's proposal. Knowing it would raise far too many suspicions, and arouse far too many bitter memories best left buried in the past, if he, himself, volunteered to fight alongside Thranduil's army, Elrond had instead offered Glorfindel and two dozen more of his best bowsmen. Legolas had thanked him in the finest way imaginable, and now, in the harsh sunlight of morning streaming through Elrond's bedroom window, all that remained was to make their awkward goodbyes.

"If Elladan and Elrohir were here, I would send them, as well," Elrond softly spoke, watching with pained eyes as Legolas strapped his quiver to his back. He silently wondered how the women of all races had the strength for moments such as these, sending those they loved as a very part of themselves off to an uncertain fate.

"You have already done enough," Legolas sweetly replied, sliding his knives behind his shoulders and into their holster. "We will have no difficulty cleansing the orcs from our lands."

<<Have I truly done all I can? Then why do I feel like I am suffocating?>> Far too many haunting memories of the last time Rivendell's elves fought alongside those of Mirkwood disturbed his mind. "Be mindful of your confidence, son of Thranduil. That manner of thinking has not served your family well in the past."

With an audible sigh of discontent and insult, Legolas spun around to face his lover, the depth of his distress etched across his expressive face. "'Son of Thranduil' - why do you call me that?"

Elrond blinked in surprise at the bitterness at that simple phrase. "Because it is who you are."

"Yes, but I am much more than that, am I not?" Taking a step closer to Elrond, Legolas searched the brooding features for a glimmer of the moonlit sweetness he had found in their bed, yet found none. "I had hoped I had become much more in the time I have been here. I see that I am mistaken." Lingering in the other's gaze until the pain became unbearable, he spun away, only to find himself roughly turned back to face that heart-rending stare.

"What would you have me say, Legolas? That my heart had fallen into darkness for so long that I could hardly recognize the sanctity of light when it was standing right in front of my very eyes? That I go to my dreams each night thanking Elbereth for the feel of your body in my arms, and I arise each morning with the very same prayer upon my lips? Is that what you would hear? Then hear it well, Legolas, in the Lady's name, for it is the truth." Pausing to suck in a steeling breath, Elrond lost himself in the intermingling pain in the other's eyes and that within his own heart. Cupping his hands around the delicately lovely features, his voice dropped to the barest of desperate whispers. "If I said my heart was like a wounded and tortured carcass, lying at your feet, gasping its last suffering breaths, what would you do? Deliver the final blow, thinking it to be kindness?"

Legolas moaned at the rawness of the soul-bared pain, and leaned into the tender contact to sup his fill from those uncertain lips. Afterward, softly, gently, with the pain of love in his eyes, he replied, "I would weep at its pain, gather it into my embrace and use whatever limited skill in healing I possess to restore it to health again."

Smiling in the bittersweetness of the moment, Elrond slid his hands farther back, tangling his fingers through the silken goldness of the other's hair. "And that is exactly what you have done. Never question your ability to heal, Legolas. You have touched my heart in a way some many times your age will never master. Take that thought with you, as well as this gift." Pressing a tender kiss against the eagerly offered lips, he withdrew his hands from the other's hair and turned back to his dressing table, collecting a thick, leather-bound volume in his hands. "You have questions, questions I have avoided answering. The answers you seek are all here." Swallowing back his final uncertainties at the rightness of this gift, he turned back and offered the book to his lover. "Swear to me that you will not open its covers until you are far from Rivendell, and that you will never discuss it with your father." Forcing a hint of a smile to his face, he sweetened his tone. "After you have read its contents, you will better understand why there is no love between Mirkwood and Rivendell."

"I swear, but you are wrong, Ithilas." With love lightened fingers, Legolas tenderly cupped those noble features, brushing his lips across the far too proper mouth. "There is much love between the forest and the valley. I feel it every night I am in your arms." With a fleeting flash of a smile, he claimed a breath-stealing kiss from the other's mouth, then with the most pained of reluctance broke their loose embrace. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then reverently accepted the volume from Elrond and pressed it to his chest. "I swear I will not be absent for so long this time. My heart could not bear it."

"Nor could mine." Collecting Legolas into his arms, he held the other close, savoring another lingering kiss until his breath betrayed him. "May your bow never fail, and the Lady of the Stars watch over you, until you return." Pressing another sweet kiss against those intoxicating lips, he whispered, "Until that day, I will wait every night for your return, Malthenel-nin."

Legolas smiled at the sound of the affectionate pet name rolling off Elrond's tongue. "Your wait will be counted in seasons, not years, I swear." Melting into Elrond's awaiting arms, he memorized every sensation, taste, and texture of the other's body. It would have to be enough to get him through many a lonely night to come. Yes, he would survive on his vivid, sensual dreams of the explosive bliss he had found in Elrond's bed, but he smiled in the certain knowledge that one day, those dreams would again take form in the reality of Elrond's pleasure granting embrace. His heart would sing for the time when once again dream and day unite.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> *This story refers to the lengthy love affair between Elrond and Gil-galad found in "Where the Shadows Are": 
> 
> *If anyone wants more visuals, the positions described herein are pictured on pages 61 and 62 of the Gay Kama Sutra (by Colin Spencer) .
> 
> *Miruvor is mentioned several places in the book version of FOTL as the "liquor of Rivendell." It has an invigorating effect.
> 
> *Malthenel, "golden star," is the Sindarin name I gave to Capella in "Images and Words." Gil-galad literally translates as "radiant light" or "radiant starlight." Malthenel-nin is literally "my golden star." Ithilas means "moon leaf"
> 
> *I have carefully avoided the question as to whether the Glorfindel of the Third Age is the same Glorfindel of the First Age who died in the battle with the Balrog. I leave that for others to thrash out. All I assume here is that he is a high Elf Lord who resides in Rivendell in the Third Age (as is clearly stated in canon). In a previous story I referred to him as being part of the earlier Battle with Sauron over the Rings in the middle of the Second Age, which is not incompatible with either theory concerning "The Two Glorfindels." If you want to read more about this issue, see http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/53015
> 
> *The descriptors after Gil-galad's name in Elrond's journal read (hopefully) "my king, my lover, my life." For more Sindarin words, see The Sindarin Dictionary Project http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/


End file.
